Falling For
by petite-dreamer
Summary: Because when you've been starved of what's good, even poison can taste sweet.


_Thanks for beta reading, Gigazubyte._

-

The frigid night air swept through the city, stirring up grains of sand that regained their golden color in the glow of the street lanterns. All its residents had retreated to their abodes at the setting of the sun, taking refuge in the warmth of modest, earthy hearths. The muted sounds of families conversing filtered through the heavy curtains that covered nearby doorways, all but suppressing the soft, heartbreaking sobs outside. Those who heard these sounds from their comfort dismissed them as belonging to another orphaned beggar child, of which there were far too many in the desert city.

Nothing could be farther from – or _closer _to - the truth.

She was slouched against a stone wall, face buried in her hands. Rose pink hair fell loose and ragged on her bare shoulders, a sharp contrast from her usual perky up-do. Her attire was sullied, and her whole body seemed hazy, as she was unable to concentrate on maintaining her form in her distress. Next to her, a simple ring adorned only with a handful of swirls much like those formed by the wind-blown sand. The hand ornament was already half-buried in the shifting granules where it had been cast away only hours earlier. She sniffed and wiped away a few smoky tears, though the forlorn expression did not leave her face as she stared at the golden loop.

Every time she had a new master, she threw all her energy into granting whichever happiness he or she desired, hoping that through her purpose, they would find value in her. But it always ended the same – she was nothing more than a tool, a toy, and just as easily discarded. Eventually she found another overseer, and the vicious cycle began anew.

Lost in her dismal reflections, she failed to notice a second figure join her until his sturdy hand rested on her quivering shoulder. Startled, she instinctively pulled away – but not _too_ far when she noticed his unnatural violet coloration. There was only was explanation for such an appearance, and the familiar air of enchantment she sensed only confirmed it.

"You- you are- ?" she stuttered, unsure how to interact with one of her own kind; she had not done so for at least a millennium.

"Are you all right?" His voice was deep and bold, a far cry from her timid whispers and whimpers. She could care less what the words sounded like, however; in her desolation she only knew that for the first time in a thousand years, someone was showing concern for her well-being.

"I…I…" Her attempted façade of resilience shattered as the tears began to flow again and she sobbed, "No, I'm not!"

She slid down the wall and concealed her face again, this time by curling up and resting her head over her bent knees. Surely he'd leave now. Any prospective master that she'd approached while in such a state had.

But he surprised her again when he began to stroke her back soothingly. She raised her tear-stained visage to meet his solemn one, hesitant hope appearing in her reddened eyes. He in turn brushed stray hairs off her cheeks before he pulled her into a comforting embrace. Moved by his apparent compassion, she released the rest of her tears as she sobbed into his chest. After a few minutes, she quieted. Now that she was calm, she was embarrassed that she had flung herself at a stranger for consolation, even if he _was_ one of her own kind.

She gently extracted herself from his arms. "Thank you. I didn't mean to trouble you."

"And why would coming to the help of a fellow genie be troublesome? Especially one as beautiful as you."

She was retrieving the ring from its gritty covering when he said it. An emotion even more foreign than comfort crept up on her. "I'm… beautiful?"

"They never tell you that, do they? Your _masters_." The word was punctuated with scorn, no attempt made to conceal the contempt he felt towards it and those it represented. She even thought she saw him scowl at the golden loop now resting in her hand. "Why do you let yourself play the servant to the vain and greedy?"

Mild confusion became visible in her expression. "But we're genies. We're supposed to serve – it's our purpose, it's why we exist, it's –"

"You still believe that, do you?" he hastily interjected. "Lies, all of it. Perpetuated for millennia just so we can be 'content' in our slavery while they abuse us in the name of their ambitions."

The exposure of her naivety struck her hard, bringing a loss of direction in its wake. He noted she looked to be close to tears again and his voice became sympathetic again, altering his tone as quickly and easily as one might change clothing.

"I know this is difficult for you to hear, but you have so much more potential than they know. You could be free. Imagine freedom."

A child-like wonder filled her. No more verbal abuse? No more endless and pointless demands? But then she realized what she was still grasping.

"But what about this?" she inquired, holding up the ring. "Won't I still be bound to it? Aren't _you_ still bound to some object?"

He began to respond, then paused. It was the first time he was hesitant in giving an answer, and it did not escape her notice.

"I – what is your name, my dear? I don't believe I've asked as of yet."

The question, though simple, caught her off-guard. In her first few centuries, before she had become disillusioned with betrayal, she had introduced herself to each master with great enthusiasm. As time passed and her suffering grew, however, she learned not to bother – they could care less what she was called as long as she answered to their every beck and call. As a result, she now struggled briefly with her answer.

"My name is… Shahra. Yes, that was it. Shahra." She noticed him raise an eyebrow at her difficulty, and she scrambled to move the conversation along, as she seemed to become more pitiful the longer they dwelled on a topic. "But you haven't answered my question. Have you really broken the ancient chains?"

He was ready for her, however. "Let me put it this way, Shahra." She shivered as he spoke her name, the soft syllables turned to rumbles like low thunder. "There is no shackle that cannot be shattered by time and a strong will."

She sighed, disappointed by his lack of directness as much as by the answer itself. "But I _don't_ have a strong will. As much as I want to believe you, I'm weak, and I – I just can't." A bitter frown crossed her face.

"Then I will lend you my strength."

She looked up quickly, unsure if she'd heard right. "What?"

"Stay with me, Shahra. I will bring you the freedom you cannot gain yourself."

His tone was at its most compelling, and her worn soul would have felt little point in resisting, had there been any inclination to resist at all. A ghost of a smile appeared.

"I think I might. But I must know one more thing."

He raised an eyebrow, amused by her sudden forwardness. "Oh? And what might that be?"

"You haven't given me _your _name."

"So I haven't. How rude of me. In that case…" He drew her close, his hands resting on her slender shoulders. "I am Erazor Djinn, and by that name, I swear that I will not abandon you, Shahra."

Overflowing with gratitude, she embraced him, her eyes shimmering with tears of happiness at the release from her years of torment. Yet as he returned the gesture and she buried herself in his chest, she could not see his face as the concern in his eyes morphed into malice, and his mouth contorted in a cruel sneer.

The desperate were so easily deceived.


End file.
